


The Stars Have Fallen

by themayqueen



Category: Hanson (Band)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Car Accidents, Family Drama, Gay Male Character, Healing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Leaving Home, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Moving On, Moving Out, Multi, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicide Attempt, Teen Angst, Teenagers, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2010-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9250598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themayqueen/pseuds/themayqueen
Summary: Zac isn’t quite sure how or why things started going wrong, but it’s fallen to him to pick the pieces up of his family and put them back together. Keeping his own sanity is the least of his concerns. He only wants to know why one brother is dead and the other slowly killing himself.





	1. Present: Laughing

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the 10 in 10 Challenge in 2009. An epilogue was added a few months later.

When I walked into the apartment and saw my older brother unconscious on the kitchen floor, an empty bottle of sleeping pills in his hand, I did the unthinkable--I laughed. I know that's terrible of me. Maybe I just couldn't handle it anymore. I don't know. I could almost feel something inside me just snap and break into a million pieces. And I felt like every emotion I had ever felt might come rushing out of me all at once. I wondered if that's how it had felt for Isaac, too, before he did it.

But I didn't ask him that. Not then. 

I stumbled over to the phone and picked it up. The dial tone buzzed in my ear and it felt like the loudest thing I had ever heard. I had to try four times before my big stupid fingers pressed the right buttons and I finally heard the 911 operator on the line. I don't even remember what I told her, but I must have said the right things because soon the paramedics came bursting through the door. The whole time I don't think Isaac moved at all and part of me thought he was already gone. I just stood there and watched them put him up on the stretcher and wheel him out. My knuckles were turning white gripping the kitchen counter and I kept thinking it was good thing he lived on the first floor or they would have had a time trying to get him outside. It's funny how my brain likes to wander like that.

When they had him all loaded up in the ambulance, one of the paramedics told me I could ride with them, but I said I would rather just drive my van to the hospital behind them. He gave me a funny look but didn't say anything. I just couldn't be that close to Isaac as long as he was so still and closed eyed. I didn't need to see another brother that way. 

It only took about twenty minutes to get to the hospital, but I don't really remember the drive. An old Janis Joplin tape was stuck in the cassette player and it kept making weird noises all through Me and Bobby McGee. I stood outside while they wheeled Isaac inside and tried to find a spot in the parking lot where my cell phone had service. It had been Taylor's a few years ago, before he moved out and our parents refused to pay for him to have a phone anymore. I was surprised they would let me have it since they always seemed to like him better, but the phone barely worked anyway.

I finally found a spot under the main ER entrance where I had two bars of signal and dialed my parent's house. The ringer droned on forever and I counted the rings. Seventeen. Then a click and the answering machine's robotic voice.

"Mom, please pick up, if you're there," I spoke into the receiver. "It's Ike. We're at the hospital. I think he's..."

My voice cracked after that and I jabbed the "end" button on my phone. I didn't want Mom and Dad to hear that. I didn't even want to think it. I don't know how long I paced around the parking lot. I walked up and down the big yellow AMBULANCE printed on the pavement, tracing the letters with my steps. For a minute, I laughed at the thought of an ambulance careening into the parking lot while I still stood over their special, designated spot. I suppose laughter still wasn't the right response. I don't know how long I walked up and down those letters, but I think I could have traced out the pattern with my eyes closed. I was still clutching the old cell phone in my hand, tracing the letter B, when I heard the door open and a muscular guy in baby blue scrubs peeked his head out and looked at me.

"Are you Mr. Hanson?"

That made me pause. I was only 17 and I don't think anyone had ever called me that before. The nurse looked at me funny, like maybe he had asked the wrong person and Mr. Hanson was still wandering around somewhere. Finally, I nodded my head and said, "Yeah. I guess I am."

"Your brother is awake, now. You can see him. Room 210."

I gave him a small nod and slipped the phone back into my pocket. He had already turned and walked back into the building, so I was left to find Ike's room all on my own. I didn't think that would be too hard. The hallway smelled like bleach and that weird smell hospitals always have. That smell seemed like it hadn't left me for months. I hoped I would never have to go near another hospital again after that day, but I knew that was a stupid wish. Wishes like that were bound to never come true.

It didn't take me long to find Isaac, but I froze at the doorstep. I guess I was afraid to walk in. He was in a private room with a big, thick window that I could look inside because no one had drawn the blinds. The doctor stepped outside and told me that Ike had swallowed five times the normal dosage, that his stomach had been pumped, and that he was lucky I had found him when I did. I wondered if Isaac would agree. I just stared blankly at the doctor. I didn't know what he wanted me to say. What could I say that wouldn't just sound dumb or silly? He nodded knowingly and walked away. I pressed my hand to the glass, contemplating tapping against it to get Ike's attention. But I wouldn't have known what to do if he did look my way. So I just stood there looking stupid, my hand getting all sweaty against the glass.

I stood there for a long time. At some point, Ike did look over at me but I couldn't read his face. His eyes looked dark and blank. It scared me a little. Our parents walked in a little while later. I could feel them walking up the hallway behind me before I saw them. They walked right past me and into his room, like I wasn't even there. A ghost. 

Dad slammed the door shut behind him and I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was obvious that they were arguing. Isaac was supposed to be the good kid and I guess they didn't expect this from him. No one would say it, but I don't think any of us were really surprised when Taylor burned out early. He was too much for the world; he couldn't have lasted long. And as for me, no one expected anything good from me. When I was little, they filled me to the eyeballs with Ritalin just so they could stand to be around me. Now it's sleeping pills and anxiety pills and anti-depressants and all kinds of things that are supposed to "help me." But it all makes me feel hollow, like someone took all my emotions and scraped them right out. Then again, sometimes it felt like all those feelings were locked up in a little box, tucked away deep inside. Either way, I didn't remember the last time I had felt anything that I knew was real. Not until Taylor died and I stopped swallowing all those pills.

After several minutes, my parents walked back out of the room. Dad came out first and stalked on down the hallway toward the double doors without even looking at me. Mom always had more sympathy, even if she didn't really understand. She stopped next to me, standing too far away for me to reach out and touch her. Her eyes were almost as blank as Isaac's, but I could see a tear growing at the corners of each.

"Ike is going away for a while," she said and her voice was almost even, but I could hear the cracks around the edges. "He needs to get better."

That was the only explanation she gave me. Like I was too young to understand the rest. Like she was explaining death to a five year old whose dog was just hit by a car. I understood well enough. I nodded my head dumbly and watched her walk away, her hands shaking as she clutched her handbag to her chest like it was anchoring her, keeping her above the current. 

Once they were both gone out of my sight, I opened the door and walked into the room. The air inside it was oddly heavy compared to the hallway. Isaac lay in the bed looking deflated and defeated. He had tubes in both arms and his face was pale, almost green.

"Ike..." I said, and my throat clenched around the word. I sounded on the verge of a sob, and maybe I was, but I didn't want him to hear that.

"Did they tell you?" 

I nodded. "Mom tried to."

He scratched at the hospital band on his wrist, careful not to touch the gauze wrapped around his hands. I guess that was there to hold all the tubes in place. Maybe they had to do that for anyone they considered a suicide risk. I never thought Isaac would be the one of us to be labeled that. Finally, he looked back up at me and cleared his throat. "I need to do this, Zac. I need this time for me. To clear my head."

"To clear your head," I repeated, turning the words over in my mouth. They tasted heavy and I didn't like it.

That's what I wanted. To clear my head of all the static and noise and everything bearing down on me all the time. I almost envied him. I was stuck here. Isaac could do what he wanted now that he was out on his own and twenty-two. But me, I was stuck with our parents, in a house so full of people and silence at the same time.

Isaac nodded toward the tray attached to his bed. I picked up the papers laying on it. It was an assortment of brochures about depression and suicide, and one for a mental treatment place out in Broken Arrow. I shuffled the papers and set them back down. I didn't want to read the details. 

"Where did you get these?"

"Doctor brought them in. I guess you were still outside calling Mom and Dad," he replied. "I don't know for sure when I'm leaving. He's gonna come back in later, probably send in a specialist, and we'll figure out all the details. But I know this is what I need to do."

"They didn't take it well, did they?" I asked, shrugging my shoulder toward the door. I knew he would understand that I meant our parents.

He shook his head. "No, but what can they do? I'm an adult. And they don't want a repeat of this. I guess it feels like either way, they're losing another son."

 _Maybe they are,_ I thought to myself.


	2. Past: Fast Car

When I got home from school, Jessie and Avery were sitting in the living room playing with paper dolls cut from Mom's clothing catalogs. Avery looked up at me and I thought she almost looked scared. I probably did look a little weird. I didn't like to ride the bus because all the kids were so loud and their noise felt like this huge weight pressing on my chest. So I walked home, even though it was raining. 

I pulled off my wet shoes–-stupid of me to wear Chuck Taylors in the rain–-and wiggled my toes. Jessica and Avery were still staring at me; both of them had dropped their scissors and cut-outs and I didn't know what to say. I tried to smile at them but it didn't work very well. So I tried to just ignore them and sat down on the couch behind them, grabbing the remote and flipping the television on.

"Zachary."

I looked up and saw Mom standing there in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, a flowery patterned dish towel in her hand.

"Come in here and wash the dishes," she said. "I have to get Avery to her ballet lessons. You can watch the kids for a couple minutes, right?"

Switching the television back off, I stood up and carefully stepped around the bits and pieces of magazine paper scattered around the floor. I walked on past Mom and into the kitchen, then asked over my shoulder, "How long will you be gone?"

"An hour or so. I need to pick up some groceries, too. I'll take Zoe with us so you don't have to watch her," she replied, her voice fading out as she turned to Avery and out of my line of sight.

A few minutes later, when my arms were already buried up to the elbows in suds, I heard the door slam and I knew that meant Mom was gone, leaving me and the dishes alone with Jessie and Mackie.

I was just putting Zoe's sippy cup in the dish drainer when I heard this awful, loud rumbling from the driveway, and the sound of gravels being thrown all around. A few of them rained down the side of the house and I knew Dad would be mad if they left any dents. Hurriedly, I dried my hands on the dish towel and ran to the window. I could see Taylor walking up the driveway, a shiny red Camaro sitting there. It had a few dents and scratches and didn't look brand new, but like someone had just given it a wash and wax. I supposed it was the culprit of all that noise. I ran to the door to answer it, but Taylor had already swung it open and was walking inside, shaking the rain out of his hair.

"Anybody home?"

"Taylor, where the hell did you get that car?" I asked, throwing the dish towel over my shoulder and peeking around Taylor to look out at the car.

He shrugged and walked on past me to the kitchen. "Alex's uncle got me a good deal on it."

"With what money? You don't have any money, not even for a good deal," I replied, following behind him. He was bent over in front of the refrigerator, the blue light from inside it making his face glow. It didn't realize surprise me that Alex had something to do with this car-–he and Taylor had been best friends ever since Taylor took that job at the record store.

He straightened back up, clutching a Dr. Pepper in his hand. "You know that money Mom and Dad gave me for college?"

I nodded slowly, and I could feel my eyes growing wide. "You didn't."

"I did."

"But, but... you can't do that!"

"It's done, isn't it?" He asked, plopping down on a stool at the counter. "Besides, they know I don't want to go to college. At least I'm not letting their money go to waste."

"Somehow I doubt they are going to agree," I replied, sitting down on the stool across from Taylor.

He took a few long, deep swigs of the soda, then slammed the can down on the counter. 

"Let's go somewhere. See what my new car can do. It's kind of old, but I think it can still go pretty fast," he said, his blue eyes sparkling.

"No. No, no, no. Mom will kill me," I replied, shaking my head. 

Taylor tapped his fingers on the counter, looking like he was full of electric energy just dying to get out. "Come on, she won't find out. We won't be gone long and the house will still be in one piece when we get back. I swear. It'll be fine."

His words weren't that persuasive, but his face was. He was always good at convincing me to go along with his stupid schemes. All Taylor ever cared about was the next thing he could do for fun. And I was just along for the ride. So I sighed and flung the dish towel down on the counter.

"Alright, let's go. But we better hurry."

"That's the plan, Zacky."

He was up and out the door before I could say anything else, so I had to just follow behind him, hurrying to slip into my shoes and jacket on my way out the door. He curled himself up into the driver's seat of the car and I slipped into the passenger seat. It was worn leather inside and it smelled kind of strange, like old smoke. Taylor put the key in the ignition and after a few sputters, the car started up and the radio blared to life with an old Led Zeppelin song.

"Where should we go?" Taylor asked, looking over his shoulder as he backed the Camaro out of the driveway, kicking up another storm of gravel.

I shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. Anywhere, just to get out of that house for a while."

He nodded, then shifted the car into drive and peeled out down the road. I could just imagine all the neighbors rushing to their lacy curtains to peer out and see what all the noise was. Taylor steered the car down our street, then turned left, heading to the little bit of the city that was sprawling toward our neighborhood. I could barely see through the rain splashing up on the windshield, and Taylor told me he needed to get new wipers. I guess maybe he hadn't gotten such a good deal after all, if the car didn't even have good wipers. Then again, I drove an old beaten down van, so maybe I didn't have room to talk anyway.

A few minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of The Dingo, our favorite restaurant. Taylor asked me if I wanted anything and I shook my head. He grabbed a wadded handful of bills from the console and stepped out into the rain, pulling his denim jacket up over his head. 

While he was gone, I decided to explore the car a little bit. I popped the glove compartment open and started to fish around in it. He had a bunch of cassette tapes, and some of them I was pretty sure he had stolen from me. I dug through the papers-–registration, proof of insurance, some stuff from Honest Jim's Used Cars–-and felt my hand touch something smooth and wooden. I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled it out. It was a small box with a deep red rose painted on the top. I slid the top open and inside I saw two rolled cigarettes and something that didn't look like tobacco at all.

I had just touched my fingers to one of them when the door flew open and Taylor sat back down, a large milkshake in one hand and a bag that smelled like burger and fries in the other. 

"You should put that back," he said, digging his hand into the bag and pulling out a handful of fries. 

I stared up at him, then back down at the little box in my hand, then back up at Taylor. "Is, is this... what I think it is?"

"I don't know, Zacky. What do you think it is?" Taylor asked, slurping on his milkshake in that way that always annoyed everyone around.

"It is."

Taylor smiled at me. "Maybe it is. How would you know? Seriously, put it up."

"Me and Shelby..." I said, letting the sentence trail off. I was used to the bad looks whenever I mentioned Shelby, but Taylor didn't seem to mind her like everyone else. I knew she was a little strange, but I liked her.

"Forget putting it up. You know that old lot where that super market used to be?" Taylor asked, already starting the car up and putting it in gear.

I nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good. We're going there."

He spun the tires as he pulled back out onto the street and I saw some old man in a Buick give us a dirty look. I still held the box in my hands trying not to look down at what was inside it, as we sped down the road. I watched the road fly by us and thought about that one time behind the school with Shelby. She wouldn't tell me where she got it or how many times she had smoked pot before, but if she asked me to try it with her, she knew I wouldn't say no. I remembered coughing and sputtering, and how we had to rush to put the thing out and hide it when we heard footsteps. 

Before I knew it, we were parked behind a dumpster where the Piggly Wiggly used to sit. It had burned down a couple years ago, I remembered, and a big dark spot still marred the crumbling foundation. 

Taylor grabbed the box out of my hand and pulled a lighter out of the pocket of his jacket. He gave me a smile and pressed the joint to his lips, flicking the lighter to the end of it. I watched it spark to life, smelled the lighter fluid from his special Zippo that he had bought for his eighteenth birthday. The joint sizzled and crackled as Taylor sucked on it, his cheeks hollowing even more than they were naturally. He held the joint out to me, his eyes wide and his lips pressed together in a thin, tight line.

My hands were still shaking when I carefully plucked it from his fingertips, trying my best not to burn myself. I remembered the instructions Shelby had given me and held the joint to my lips, drawing in the smoke as hard as I could. When I felt my throat begin to burn, I held the joint back out to Taylor, being careful not to open my mouth and let the smoke escape. My vision went blurry and tears start to well up in my eyes. The burn had worked its way down into my lungs and I exhaled long and slow, watching the cloud of smoke fill the air around me. 

The whole car seemed to fill with smoke as we passed the joint back and forth. I don't know how long we sat there. I knew it couldn't have been long, but I was still worried that we wouldn't make it back to the house before mom returned. But that worry was pushed back, under the surface. I liked that feeling. It was a numb that was totally different from the numb I was used to. It wasn't hollow and empty; it was calm, almost serene. 

I let my head fall back against the seat and felt the car's engine vibrating inside it as Taylor drove back home. The raindrops still pounded against the roof of the car, each one sounding like it must have been the size of a brick. I knew that was wrong, though. But I couldn't shake the thought. I must have closed my eyes somewhere along the way, because I felt Taylor's hand on my shoulder. The car was idling in the driveway of the house, and I was relieved to see that it was the only car there.

I didn't know what to say to Taylor, and my tongue felt like it weighed a ton anyway. I wasn't sure I could even lift it to speak at all. Taylor gave me a nod and I fumbled to open the car door. Each footstep felt like it caused a tiny earthquake. I unlocked the door and walked in, and looked around. It was mostly quiet, but I could hear the soft hum of a television from down the hall where Mackie's room was. Satisfied with that, I walked up the stairs to my room and collapsed on the bed. 

My mind was comfortably blank and I let my weight sink into the mattress, imagining myself swimming in a deep, blue sea. The fact that I couldn't really swim didn't bother me at all.


	3. Present: Dust

I didn't know what to do with myself. I felt like I used to when I was little, like a million voices were running through my mind at once, all of them with the volume cranked all the way up, and I had to figure out which one to listen to. I chose the one telling me to go back to Isaac's apartment. 

The first night after the hospital, I stayed at home with Mom and Dad. It was okay that night. But in the morning, I could tell they were keeping their distance from me. When I came from from school, I might as well have been a ghost walking through the house. Mom didn't even tell me when dinner was ready and I had to eat my mashed potatoes and peas cold. It was like they were afraid if they acknowledged me, I would do something horrible like Isaac did. Having them leave me alone for once would normally have been a nice change, but now it was almost as terrible as if they had been looking over my shoulder all the time.

Isaac had been released from the hospital after a day and half spent in his private room with nurses constantly watching him to make sure he had recovered from all the pills and to be sure he didn't try to kill himself again. I wondered what they really thought he could do with his hands all bandaged up. Hit himself over the head with the food tray? Anyway, after they let him go, he called a taxi to his apartment, packed up his bags and checked himself into the psychiatric hospital without so much as a word to the rest of us until he had already moved in. Mom was mad, and I wanted to remind her that it was his decision and he didn't really _have_ to tell anyone. But I didn't.

Now that he was gone away, his apartment would just sit completely empty. I knew he had paid all the bills for a couple months in advance-–because he was always that thoughtful, unlike me or Taylor-–so the power and everything would still be on for a while, even if he wasn't there to use it. When I walked in, the air was already growing stale and cold. I found the thermostat in the hallway and turned it up a few notches. Isaac and Taylor, when Taylor still lived there with him, had always liked to keep the place colder than I could stand. 

I had to keep working to keep my mind quiet. The first thing I did was walk into the kitchen and start rooting through the refrigerator. I poured the milk, which had gone bad almost five days ago, down the drain. I ate the lone apple sitting on the shelf, then packed up all the food that would go out of date soon. I figured I could take it home and keep it in the fridge in the basement to snack on. I spent most of my free time down there, playing my drums or Taylor's old keyboard. After I had piled all the bologna, salad dressing and sliced cheese that I could into my backpack, I started the actual cleaning. 

I worked for an hour or two scrubbing all the counters and cabinets in the kitchen. I even took the burners off the stove and plunged them into soapy water to get all the burnt stuff off. At some point I had to turn on the radio and turn the volume all the way up because even the cleaning wasn't doing enough to soothe my brain. I sang along at the top of my lungs with Diana Ross and Smokey Robinson while I used one of Isaac's old shirts to wipe the dust off everything in the living room. Usually Ike was a good housekeeper so it surprised me how dirty the place was. I had noticed the dust the last time I was there, but it didn't really bother me until now. Now I had to get rid of it. All of it.

A knock at the door interrupted me during "Tracks of My Tears," and I threw the shirt down over the end of the couch before I walked over to answer the door. I couldn't even imagine who it could be. I hoped it wasn't someone looking for Isaac; I wouldn't have known just what to say to them.

Since the apartments were cheap and old, the door's peephole was rusted over and I just had to fling the door wide open and hope for the best. When I did, I found myself face to face with Portia, this girl Isaac had been seeing off and on for a while. She was almost as tall as me, so I really was face to face with her, staring into her big brown eyes.

"Jessica told me you were over here. Your mom didn't want to," Portia said.

I looked down at my feet, at my big toe poking out of the hole in my sock. "You wanted to see me?"

Portia looked like she was ready to push on past me into the apartment. It wasn't my place anyway, so I felt silly blocking her way and I stepped aside to let her in. I walked over to the little table next to the kitchen door and turned the volume down on the radio. Portia just stood kind of awkwardly in little area between the front door and the living room. She bit her lip, then said, "I can't very well see Isaac here, can I?"

"Do you want something?"

She stared at me for a second, then walked by me and collapsed onto the couch. "Look, I'd really like to go see Ike, okay? But your mom won't tell me where he's staying. All I know is he's at some kind of mental place. I don't understand, Zac."

I picked the shirt off the couch's arm and went back to my dusting. "I don't know, Portia. Can't imagine why our parents don't like you. I mean, your brother was the last person to see my brother alive."

"So we're cursed or something? We're trying to kill all you Hanson boys? Better watch out, I'm coming after you next," she replied. 

I shook my head. "No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying I can understand why she'd not want anything to do with you guys. She's not dealing with all this well."

"Well I'm sorry you guys feel that way," Portia said, standing up and dusting her jeans off. "I just wanted to go see Ike, if I can. That's all. I'm trying to keep myself together here. Everything and everyone is falling apart, okay? It's not just you guys. Alex will barely talk to me at all. He just goes to work and comes home, like a robot or something."

My shoulders fell. Maybe we had all been too wrapped up in our own pain to think about how this must be for them. "Okay, fine. I can tell you were he's at, but I don't think he wants any visitors. Or if he can even have any yet. Maybe not even me."

"That's better than nothing," she replied.

I dug my hand into my pocket, pulling out my wallet. Stuffed in there where the money should have been was a folded up piece of paper with Isaac's room number and address written on it. I had already memorized what it said, so I handed it over to Portia without a word.

"Thanks, Zac," Portia said, taking the paper out of my hand and unfolding it. She looked down at it for a minute, her lips moving just a little as she read the words and numbers. I imagined she was trying to memorize it too. She looked up and said, "I really appreciate this. You know me and Alex aren't the bad guys in all this."

"That's what I wanna believe," I said softly, staring down at the floor. I realized I would need to vacuum it next and I didn't know if the old Hoover Taylor stole from our parents still worked. 

Portia looked like she was ready to cry and I knew if I were a better person, I would give her a hug. She sniffled a little and said, "I mean it, Zac. None of this was our fault, okay? Alex didn't do anything wrong. He didn't make that happen to Taylor."

I suspected there was a double meaning in what she said, but I tried to ignore it. I twisted the shirt in my fingers and replied, "I know, I know. It's just weird, you know? I don't know what to think about any of this. Life doesn't make sense."

She nodded. "I know. Life hasn't made sense at all for the past six months. Maybe things will get better, though."

"I don't know how. I really, really don't know," I said, my voice trailing off to a whisper at the end of the sentence.

Portia nodded again, then refolded the paper and stuck it in her pocket. "Thanks again. I'll come by and see you some time, if that's okay. You're the only thing I have left of Isaac besides Isaac himself, and he isn't anything like himself at all now."

"Just... just come here. Don't come to our house, okay? Not for a while," I said, hoping that didn't offend her and that she would understand.

A little frown graced her lips but was gone in seconds, like she was trying to hide it from me. Finally, she spoke, "Okay. I don't like it, but I get it. Bye, Zac."

At that, she turned and walked out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind her. I turned the radio back up and resumed my cleaning. I could stay there for hours more, just working my way through all the rooms. It was dark out by the time I started home, and I didn't really care if my parents had even noticed I was gone.


	4. Past: Red Roses

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at myself. I looked ridiculous. The suit had been Taylor's two years ago and I don't know how I even got myself into it in the first place. It was this weird greenish brown color and kind of itchy. I was supposed to wear a tie, but there was no way I was doing that, too. 

For several minutes I just stood there, staring myself down. I had already finished brushing my teeth and my hair, but I just didn't want to move. I backed away from the sink until I felt my back bump against the wall. It jarred me so badly that my teeth rattled a little. Slowly, I sank down the wall until I touched the floor. It felt like melting. I didn't know if I would be able to pick myself up again.

The muffled sound of my mom calling out my name barely made it to me, barely carrying through the walls and the loud white noise in my head. I knew it was time to leave. This was the first night of visitation before the funeral. I didn't want to go, not to the wake or the funeral or anything. I had tried, earlier, to convince Mom to let me stay at home. Someone needed to be there to answer the door when well-wishers came by with their trays of sandwiches and Jello molds. But she wouldn't hear a word of it. Which left me there, crumpled up in the bathroom floor in a suit about two sizes too small, inherited from my dead brother.

When I could hear Mom's footsteps coming up the stairs, I carefully picked myself up and straightened the wrinkled material of my pants as best I could, which wasn't very good at all. I walked downstairs to find the whole family-–no, that wasn't right. But it was right, now. Everyone who could be was there. Mom, Dad, Isaac, Jessie, Mackie, Avery and even Zoe in a little dull purple jumper. 

Everyone piled into Dad's Blazer, except for me and Ike who walked wordlessly to his car, the beige Camry he had worked and saved for months to make the down payment on when he was seventeen. The entire drive to the funeral home, we didn't speak a single word to each other. Isaac wouldn't even turn on the radio, and I didn't want to reach out and touch it without asking him. But I also didn't want to ask him. So I just listened to hum of the air conditioner all the way there and thought about how I would probably get sweat stains on that stupid suit.

It didn't take us long at all to get there, since it was the only funeral parlor in all of Jenks. I wasn't surprised at all by how full the parking lot had already become; Taylor had always had a ton of friends, and we had a lot of family, too. Aunts, uncles and cousins had come pouring in from all around the state to see him put into the ground. 

Most of the friends and acquaintances mingled around outside while we made our way inside. I saw Shelby standing near the end of the building by herself and I gave her a small smile so she'd know I was coming back to see her as soon as I could. Mom and Dad ushered all the little ones inside and I wondered how they had managed to explain to them why they were there and what was happening. Zoe didn't want to go inside the building at all and Dad finally had to sling her over his shoulder like she was still a baby.

A few stray aunts and uncles mingled about in the lobby area, and I was afraid we would be forced to make small talk. I always hated small talk. Luckily that wasn't the case. Some fat, balding guy in an even more ill-fitting suit than mine ushered us into the main room. I could hear piano music coming from somewhere and when I looked around, I saw our old piano teacher in one corner, plucking away at some sad, slow hymn.

The smell of fresh flowers made the room's air heavy and suffocating. All around Taylor's casket were bouquets and baskets of deep red roses-–his favorite. Maybe it was weird for him to have a favorite, but there was no doubt that red roses were it. For now, the casket was open, but I wasn't close enough to see in. I knew that Mom and Dad had asked for it to be open just for us, but they didn't want everyone to see him. I thought that didn't make much sense, but I knew my opinion on it didn't matter anyway.

Dad stood back from the casket a little, since he was still holding Zoe to his chest. Mackie and Avery followed Mom down the aisle, but I don't think either one of them made an effort to look in at Taylor for more than a few seconds. Just enough to make sure he was really was there, I guess. I walked up the aisle with Jessie, both of us glancing over at the over with a knowing look. She didn't want to see Taylor laying there and neither did I.

The walk up the aisle seemed to take forever, my feet shuffling on the dark green carpet and making this annoying sound. I wanted to keep staring at my scuffed black shoes instead of looking in at Taylor. I could feel Jessie bracing herself against my side and it surprised me a little. 

I put my arm around her, tentatively, and finally looked up at the casket holding Taylor's body. It was weird to think of it as his body and not him. But I guess that's what it was. His face was covered in this thick makeup that barely disguised all the cuts and bruises from the windshield he had flown through. I imagined even more injuries lay hidden under his silky shirt and that velour jacket he had loved. His cheeks were rosy, but not like they had been in life. I wished I could see his blue eyes again, just one more time. And he looked so cold. I wondered if I touched him, would he feel like ice, the way he looked?

I didn't want to find out.

Still holding Jessie against my side, I made my way to the first pew with the "Reserved for Family" sign. I picked up a box of tissues from the end and set it in her lap. I didn't cry. I wanted to cry. But I didn't. 

Through the whole thing, my eyes stayed dry. Mom stood up and said a few words about Taylor, followed by Isaac. I don't think anyone expected me to talk, and I was grateful for that. I wasn't good with words, even when circumstances weren't so bad. 

I still didn't cry, but at some point I just started to feel this awful weight pushing down on my chest. So I had to stand up. I had to move. I had to get out of there. Grandma gave me a weird look when I passed her standing talking to some woman from church, but she didn't say anything and just let me go on by. I could have hugged her for it, but that would have attracted attention.

The sound of angry voices carried through the doors to the lobby, and when I pushed them open I saw the source. Alex and Portia were standing by a big fake flower arrangement, looking embarrassed, while my mom faced them down with her hands on her hips.

"Mrs. Hanson, please--" Alex asked, his face all screwed up and pleading.

"I would really be-–no, the whole family would be-–much more comfortable if you two would just leave," my mom replied, her jaw clenched.

Portia took a step forward, which probably wasn't a smart move, and said, "But we were his friends. I think we have every reason to be here."

"It's out of the question. I've made up my mind, now you need to leave," Mom said, eyes closed. She didn't even have the decency to look at the two of them while she kicked them out of her son's funeral.

I knew how hard headed Alex was; it was half the reason he and Tay got along so well. So I knew the argument wouldn't end there, even if Mom had decided it would. I really didn't want to be there for the rest of it, so I slipped down the hallway to the left, in search of refreshments. Not surprisingly, the room was full-–of both people and food. I kept quiet so no one would try to talk to me and did my best to react appropriately to all the looks of sympathy. I was pretty successful, and a few minutes later I was on my way back out, with two brownies and a plastic cup full of soda as my reward.

Instead of walking back into the battlefield of the lobby, I turned left again and kept walking down the hallway, following it to what looked like a door to the outside. Praying silently that it didn't have an alarm, I pushed the door open and felt the late August heat rush forward to punch me in the face. Still, it was better than being inside. 

The crunch of shoes on gravel told me someone else had had the same idea, and I looked to my right to see Shelby walking toward me, wobbling a little in her high heels. She wasn't a tall girl, but you wouldn't have known it to see her in those shoes, tiptoeing her way to me.

"Why aren't you inside?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "Why aren't you?"

"Just had my fill of it all, you know?"

"Yeah, makes sense," she replied, fishing through her purse and pulling out a cigarette and lighter a few seconds later. "How does he look?"

"Weird. Like someone tried to make a mold of him just from memory, and it's close but not quite right," I replied, stuffing my hands in the pockets my pants and actually hearing the stitches start to rip and tear.

Shelby nodded, then took a drag on her cigarette. "That's how my Gran looked at her funeral. I barely remember it, though."

I tried to think back to my other Grandma's funeral, but the memory was hazy. I was nine or ten at the time, I guess, and I had refused to go look at her in the casket. Maybe if I had, I would have been more prepared for this. But does anything prepare you for seeing your brother, who still looked like an overeager kid, laying cold and dead? I was pretty sure the answer to that was a big, fat no.

"Look, sugar," Shelby began, putting a hand on her hip like she did when she was in thought. "It's gonna be alright. This pain won't last forever."

I shook my head, but I couldn't explain to her just how wrong she was. This pain might not last forever. Maybe it would fade to a dull ache. I would get used to Taylor's bedroom in the apartment being empty. And I would stop expecting him to come walking through the door, another crazy scheme in his head.

But even if this pain did begin to fade, it wouldn't take the rest of the pain away. Shelby couldn't get that. She was hard edges and a fighting stance and all kinds of things I wasn't. She didn't get that there was always pain, that I couldn't just get angry and push it away like she did. 

I glanced back toward the door. "I should probably go back in there before they send out a search party."

Shelby nodded, still holding the cigarette to her lips. I turned and walked away from her, back toward the door, then paused there, clutching the big metal doorknob.

"And Shelby?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think you have all the answers. At least maybe not the ones I need."


	5. Present: Loony Bin

Isaac had been gone away almost two months before any of us heard from him again. I had taken to spending most of my free time at his apartment. He hadn't packed up or thrown out any of Taylor's things, so most days I would sit in Tay's old bedroom or the living room playing his guitar. I wasn't very good at it, but it kept my hands and my head busy.

I didn't touch anything else there once I had finished the cleaning, except to make sure all the old food was taken out and that the dust didn't accumulate again. Disturbing the place any more than that just didn't sit right with me, so I made sure to leave the least amount of tracks that I could. Maybe that's why it surprised me so much the day the phone rang. All the times I had been there, no one had called. I guessed Isaac had gotten word out somehow that he was going away and there was no need for anyone to call.

When the phone did ring, I nearly jumped off the couch. I walked over to it slowly and just kind of stood there watching it, as though it might be actually something more terrifying than just a phone sitting on a table.

Finally, I decided the phone couldn't really do me any harm and picked it up.

"H-hello?"

"Zac?"

"Isaac?"

I heard a soft chuckle on the other end. "Yeah, Zac. It's me. I had a feeling you were at my apartment."

"Oh. Mom didn't tell you?"

"I didn't ask her," he replied. "I called you first."

I realized I was still standing, but there wasn't any reason to, so I walked over the couch and sat back down. Sitting down felt like it took a huge weight off me.

Feeling like I could start breathing again, I asked, "Why did you call me?"

"My doctor said I needed to start reconnecting with my family, and I didn't feel like connecting with any of the rest of them yet," Isaac said. "So are you sleeping at my place, or what?"

"Well, it's not like you're using it," I replied, then regretted it. "No, I'm not."

There was a silence at the other end that told me he didn't believe me.

"Okay, only on the weekends," I admitted.

More silence.

"It's not like anyone cares that I'm gone, anyway!" I finally shouted, wincing a little as my volume surprised me.

Isaac sighed. "That isn't true, Zac. They don't all hate you like you think they do."

"You're the perfect son, Taylor is-–was the lovable one. What does that leave for me?" I was almost whining by that point and it made me feel ridiculous.

I could almost hear Isaac rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, Zac. I'm perfect. Obviously that's why I'm not allowed to wear a belt or use a toilet with a lid."

That hurt a little, but he had a point.

"Okay, okay," I said. "You've got a point. But I'd still rather be at your place than at home right now, okay?"

"Hey, it's better than the loony bin," Isaac said, laughing a little. I guess that gave me permission to laugh too, but I didn't feel like it.

"So, what's up? Other than the lack of a belt," I said.

"I'd really love some non-loony company," he replied, still chuckling softly.

I finally gave myself permission to laugh. "Sorry, you called the wrong number for that."

Ike laughed at that, too. "Okay, but seriously, Zac. I need some company that isn't a doctor, nurse or someone crazier than me."

"Still not sure I qualify," I replied, this time a bit more sincerely.

"Do you talk to the voices in your head?"

"Usually, no."

"That'll do."

The conversation went on for quite a while, but it was mostly just to nail down all the details I would need to come visit him. I wasn't really anxious to do it, although I did want to see him. We had a long weekend at school a week from then, so I knew Mom and Dad wouldn't really miss me at all. They had almost stopped asking questions anyway. It really seemed like they didn't care. Like they had already decided that I was a lost cause, too. I wondered if they had ever felt that way about Taylor or Isaac, but I doubted it.

When the time came to go visit Isaac, I was more than a little nervous. I had absolutely no idea what to expect. I spent the night at his apartment, as usual, and got dressed the next day in the cleanest looking clothes I could find. I had picked them out of my floor and stuffed them in my backpack before I left for school the morning before, so they smelled a little like both my backpack and my van-–neither of which smelled good-–and they were kind of wrinkled, but it was about the best I could do. 

I didn't have too much trouble following Isaac's directions, except for where my handwriting was smudged and hard to read. But that was my own fault and not his, so I would tell him that the directions were no trouble at all to follow. I don't know what I expected the place to look like, but it didn't look like anything I had imagined. In fact, it looked just like a hospital. A regular one, for sick people. But I guess the people in it _were_ sick. That shouldn't have been such a strange thought for me, but it was.

The only thing that was really different, at first, from any other hospital was how much security it had. I passed through the first door by pushing a button, then I had to speak into a microphone through a big glass window to a very tired looking woman in nurse's uniform. Once she was sure that I wasn't going to do anything bad, I guess, she pushed some buttons and the second set of doors opened with a loud _woosh_. 

From there, another nurse stood waiting to walk me down the hall to a lounge area where Isaac sat by himself at the window. He was reading a book that I was pretty sure had been one of Taylor's-–Atlas Shrugged. I remembered Tay reading it over and over again, and the worn cover looked familiar. I didn't know what to say, so I just stood by the nurse shuffling my feet a little.

Luckily, the nurse came to my rescue, clearing her throat and saying, "You have some company today, Isaac." 

Ike looked up at me slowly, like he had almost forgotten to expect me and was nervous to see who his visitor might be. His face relaxed a little when he saw it was me, but I could still see the tension in his forehead. 

He stood up and turned to the nurse. "Do we have to stay inside?"

She nodded. "Your doctor would prefer that, yes. Just for this visit. You can talk about courtyard visits next time, okay?"

Isaac nodded and I could see the tension in his face growing. He didn't say another word to the nurse, though, just sat back down in his chair and closed his book. He motioned to the other armchair that sat with his, and I took a seat in it. The nurse seemed to take this as her cue to leave. 

"This place doesn't look so bad," I said. It was a stupid thing to say, just one of those things you say when you don't have anything better.

Isaac traced the lines of the picture on the cover of his book, then shrugged. "It could be worse. They let me paint and play piano. I feel like a little kid here, though."

I didn't know what else to say, so I just asked, "How is the food?"

"You know the cafeteria food at school?"

"That bad, huh?" I replied, scrunching up my nose.

"Worse," Isaac said, almost grinning. I figured he had been planning that joke since the doctor told him he could have visitors. At least he could still crack a joke, but his face looked like he had lost his sense of humor completely. He looked older than I remembered.

"So, are there like... certain things we're supposed to talk about? I mean, if your doctor thinks we should do this, what does he think it will do?" I asked. The words just sort of came tumbling out, not really at all what I had planned to say, or at least not how I had planned to say it.

Ike frowned, picking at the corner of the book, and replied, "I guess we're supposed to talk about why I'm here. Like that will help me or something."

"Will it?"

"I'm not the doctor, am I?" Isaac replied. He was almost grinning, just a little bit at the corners of his mouth. 

I shook my head, not thinking that was really funny enough to laugh at. "I mean, do you think it will?"

"There isn't really much to say about it, is there?" Isaac said, waving his hand through the air, like he was dismissing the whole thing as silly. "It's kind of a black and white thing. You take a bottle of pills 'cause you want to stop. Just stop. Stop thinking, breathing. Stop _being_. End of story."

"Yeah, but why? What makes you want to stop?" I asked.

"What makes _you_?" He replied. 

I didn't think that was a fair question. Sometimes I wasn't sure I'd ever wanted to be, in the first place. That it hadn't been a change of heart, like he had, but just a fact of who I was. I knew that was wrong, though. But I couldn't remember much else except the emptiness.

I shook my head again, more forcefully this time. "This isn't about me. I'm not the one in here, at least not yet."

"You won't be," Ike said. "You've still got a chance."

"Maybe. Maybe not," I replied softly.

"You're not as bad off as I am, I can promise you that," Isaac said. His voice had an edge to it that told me not to argue with him, even if I didn't agree. He had made up his mind and I was going to hear it.

"What makes you think you're so bad? You never were..." I trailed off, thinking back on how I had called him the perfect son. He was. Taylor may have been the charmer who could win anyone's heart, but Ike was always the golden boy, doing everything he was supposed to.

He was quiet for a long time. He picked up the book and kneaded it in his hands, looking like he was going to rip it apart. Finally, he looked like up at me.

"Because it's my fault."

The nurse walked back up then and cleared her throat just like before, then said, "Sorry, Isaac dear. But your visitor needs to go now. It's time for your group session."

Isaac nodded to the nurse, then looked wordlessly back at me. I didn't know what else to say, so I just stood up and followed the nurse back to the doors. I was surprised that my feet were willing to carry me. Even though he hadn't said, I knew Isaac was talking about Taylor. I just didn't understand what he could possibly have meant.


	6. Past: Blurry

Shelby and I kind of fell together somewhere around the end our sophomore year. I couldn't really describe it any other way. We had art class together, and as the year went on, our seats seemed to drift closer and closer together. Then we started eating lunch together. By the end of the year, we were pretty much glued to each others' sides. I don't think my parents ever harbored any hopes that I would end up with the head cheerleader type or the perfect girl-next-door type. But they didn't like Shelby at all. 

Maybe she was a little wrong for me. She looked like a little fairy, until you noticed all the eyeliner and the nicotine stains on her fingertips. Isaac gave me a few weird looks the first time I brought her over to his apartment, but he didn't say a word about it. Neither did Taylor. Mom and Dad had told me not to bring Shelby over to the house, so on the weekends we would meet up at Ike and Tay's apartment, and I don't think they minded too much having us there. Mostly it was just them, Portia and Alex anyway, watching movies and maybe having a few drinks. Sometimes they would offer me a beer or something suspicious in a plastic cup, but I didn't accept any of it. With the cocktail of pills I was on, I didn't really want to know what would happen if I threw the alcohol in on top of it. 

"Oh come on, Zac. It won't hurt anything!" Shelby hissed, trying to keep her voice low. We were huddled around the kitchen counter, while the other four were busy watching some horror movie in the living room. 

Shelby was clutching a big bottle of whiskey in her hand, waving it around in front of my face. She had already poured herself a drink that looked like it was mostly whiskey with just enough Coke splashed in to change the color a little. I shook my head as hard as I could, but it didn't stop her from pulling out another glass and filling it with the same mixture, although maybe with a little less whiskey.

"No. No way," I protested, even as she shoved the glass into my hand. 

I knew it was hopeless. I couldn't resist anything Shelby asked of me. She was already taking big sips of her drink, and wincing as she did it. With a huge sigh, I put the glass to my lips and scrunched up my face in anticipation. The first sip I took was tiny, just enough to get the bitter taste in my mouth. The second was bigger, and once the bitterness was gone, I felt this big, warm feeling creeping down my spine. I liked it.

We downed the rest of our drinks in the kitchen and rinsed out the glasses. Shelby hadn't asked Isaac for permission, and I didn't want him to be mad. But when we walked back into the living room, he didn't seem to notice us at all. He was cozied up with Portia on the couch. Tay and Alex had gone missing, but I was too warm and dizzy to worry too much about that.

I was practically holding Shelby up, or maybe it was the other way around. Whatever it was, we couldn't quite make it onto the couch, so we just sort of toppled into the floor in front of it. Ike and Portia were still too absorbed in each other to notice, and I don't think they noticed when Shelby picked up the bottle of vodka on the table and started taking sips right from it. She offered it to me, practically pouring it into my mouth, and I was already feeling too gone to refuse. 

Everything around me went blurry and the room tilted and wobbled back and forth. I was glad to be planted firmly in the floor or it would have felt even more like riding a roller coaster. Shelby was pressed against my side, making my skin tingle and burn, in a way kind of like the liquor did but not quite the same. I could feel her lips against my neck, not kissing it but just kind of resting there. 

We sat on the floor for what felt like a really long time, but it probably wasn't. With some effort, Shelby stood up, grabbing my hand as she did it, and pulling me up with her. She giggled a little as we both struggled to balance ourselves and I couldn't help but laugh a little, too. Everything went red and black for a minute, and the whole room faded out of focus. When it came back, Shelby had her fingers laced into mine and she was pulling me down the hallway.

My other arm and shoulder banged against the wall as I tried to keep steady. Shelby had been drunk plenty more than me and she was moving faster than I could. Beneath the haze in my head, I thought to myself that she really didn't need to move so fast since the hallway was pretty short anyway. She pushed her way into Taylor's room, tossing her tiny frame right against the door and forcing it open. I tumbled in almost on top of her, and for a second we were both in danger of falling into the floor. It didn't take me longer to realize why Shelby had frozen on the spot. I had forgotten that Taylor and Alex were missing, but there they were on Taylor's bed. My vision was still blurry, and it didn't help that the lights were off. It looked like Alex didn't have a shirt on and I didn't even want to see how much clothing Taylor was or wasn't wearing.

Shelby turned on her heel and pushed me back out of the room. I leaned back against the wall outside his room, willing the walls to stop moving so I could hold on a little better. I wasn't against the wall for long, though, before I felt Shelby's hands creeping up my sides, and her face nuzzling against my cheek. I was pretty sure she had to be standing on her tiptoes to do it and part of me was afraid she would fall over. She didn't seem to mind though, and she started placing sloppy kisses all over my face. 

Standing out in the middle of the halfway made me feel really exposed, so I mustered up all the balance I had and wrapped my arms around her waist. She took this as encouragement, I guess, and started kissing me harder, pressing her lips against mine and slipping her tongue between them. With my hands on her hips, I walked us into the bathroom, moving one hand off Shelby's waist just long enough to push the door open. Altogether, I was pretty proud of myself that I had managed the maneuver. 

We fell against the wall next to the sink, this time with Shelby pushed up against the dirty wallpaper, and my palms pressed against it to hold myself up. I kissed down her neck, the alcohol buzzing through my system giving me the courage to dip down a little lower than I normally would. When I was sure I wasn't going to fall, I placed one hand on her hip again and played with the lacy fabric of her tank top. My teeth nipped at the skin around the tank top's strap before returning to Shelby's mouth, kissing her harder and faster than I ever remembered doing before.

Shelby started to kind of mirror my moves, kissing down the side of my face and onto my neck, her fingers tugging at the collar of the worn out t-shirt I was wearing. Her hands ran up the back of my shirt, fingernails raking across my skin and sending icy tingles down my spine. It was a weird contrast with the warm tingles still coursing through my veins from the alcohol. 

Then she ran her hands back down my sides and started to fumble with my belt buckle. I couldn't figure out what she was doing at first, until she worked her way down onto her knees. Even in my very drunken state, I knew what that meant. And it was something we had never done before, at least not together. I was pretty sure Shelby knew more about that kind of stuff than I did, but I also knew it wasn't the time to be asking about it. I just steadied my hands against the wall and tried my best to plant my feet firmly on the floor, even though I could still feel myself trembling and wobbling.

The next thing I knew, I was feeling the cold linoleum floor on my hands. I was down on my knees and I could hear voices above me. Or maybe just one voice. My vision was all gray and blurry, and I had to blink several times to bring it into focus. Someone was brushing my hair back off my face and shoulders.

"Jesus, Zac! How much did you have to drink?" The person attached to the hands asked, and I realized it was Taylor.

I managed to lean myself back against the tub and my vision finally fixed itself so that I could see Taylor on the floor next to me and Shelby sitting with her back to the wall. I couldn't remember how I got from the wall to the floor, but I was glad to realize that my pants were pulled up and buttoned, although my belt was nowhere to be seen. I figured I had bigger concerns than that, though. I tried to focus myself on what Taylor and Shelby were saying.

"We didn't have that much!"

"He's not supposed to drink with all the meds Mom and Dad have him on!" 

My stomach did what felt like a very impressive back flip, and I lunged for the toilet, reaching it just in time. The rest of Taylor and Shelby's argument was lost to my ears as I clutched at the sides of the toilet until my knuckles were white and my stomach felt completely empty. I was shaking all over and I could feel a layer of icy cold sweat covering my body. 

A little, annoying voice in the back of my head wanted to ask Taylor about what I had seen in his bedroom. But my tongue felt too big for my mouth, and something told me that even if I could speak, I shouldn't. So I just laid my head back against the cold, hard surface of the tub and closed my eyes, trying to shut out the bathroom light and the nausea. I had a feeling that a long nap was just what I needed to empty to my head and get rid of all the questions in it.


	7. Present: Normal

That summer, I got a job at a gas station and garage not far from Isaac's apartment. Since I didn't have to go to school, I was staying there almost all the time. I worked almost full time, enough to chip in a little on Isaac's rent, even though he didn't know I was doing it. We hadn't talked again since my visit. I thought I heard Mom on the phone with him one day, but it didn't sound like she wanted anything to do with him at all. When she hung up the phone, I heard her crying softly and I tiptoed away from the kitchen before she had time to realize I was there.

Having the job didn't fill up as much of my time as I was hoping. Mostly I sat on my ass, or stood outside frying in the sun, waiting for customers to drive up. It gave me more time to think than I would have liked. But the pay was decent and I didn't have to carry on much more conversation than just asking "How much?" and counting out change. 

The other guys who worked there weren't too bad either. Most of them were older than me, guys who had gone to school with Isaac and Taylor. It being such a small town, they had all heard the gossip. So they kind of kept their distance from me, like something might be a little bit wrong with me too. Like I was a rubber band pulled tight and ready to snap at any second. 

When we took our lunch breaks, the other guys would usually crowd around their cars and trucks parked behind the garage. I didn't join them. They didn't invite me and I knew I couldn't have invited myself. So I would just eat my sandwich in the corner of the garage, where I knew I wouldn't be in anyone's way. Sometimes I ate in our little bathroom. I hated too because it was so dirty, but I had to take a couple of my pills then, so it was just easier that way.

One day I forgot my pills in my van and I had to walk by the other guys on my way to get them. They were crowded around this guy Billy's truck, and when I walked by all their voices got really low. I wanted to laugh out loud; they couldn't have made themselves look more suspicious. But I didn't, because I wanted to hear what they were saying and the whole thing really wasn't funny anyway.

"--heard he's locked up in some mental ward."

"--reckon the other one killed himself--"

I didn't want to hear any more of it than that. I grabbed the pill bottles from my glove compartment and shoved them deep in the pocket of my overalls, praying that the contents wouldn't rattle and give themselves away.

When I went back into the bathroom, I poured out each and every pill into the toilet and flushed them down. I watched the different colors swirl and disappear down the stained bowl, finally sinking down and out of my life forever. I hadn't been to a doctor's appointment in weeks, anyway, but my parents didn't know that yet. 

I just wanted to feel something that I was certain was my own emotion and not something manufactured by the chemicals in my bloodstream. I knew that flushing the pills didn't make me normal, but it made it easier to pretend that I was. I didn't even know who or what I would be all on my own, but I figured it couldn't be much worse. If it was, I'd figure out how to deal with that, too.

After I had managed to force down the peanut butter and jelly, I went back to work and pretended I hadn't heard a word those guys had said. Pretended everything was normal. That was the point, wasn't it? To be normal.

Later that afternoon, it seemed like all the other guys had wandered off and left me to work the gas station all by myself. That had a tendency to happen and it never failed to annoy me. It was getting really hot too, and sitting inside the little attendant's booth just made it feel even worse, so I decided to stand out on the pavement, which felt approximately like the face of the sun. 

I had to shade my eyes with my hand to see the cars as they pulled in, so at first I didn't recognize the little Toyota when it pulled in at the first pump. As I stepped closer to it, I could see Shelby through the rolled-down window, a big pair of purple-tinted sunglasses covering her eyes. But I'd recognize her face anywhere, and I should have recognized her older sister's car that she had inherited the summer before that, around the same time Taylor had bought his car.

I shook my head as I walked up to the car, hating how everything still reminded me of Taylor after almost a year. I wondered if that would ever stop. And at the same time, I wondered if I wanted it to.

"Earth to Zac," Shelby said, smiling. "I think your head is always in the clouds."

"Maybe it is. How much do you want?" I asked, leaning down a little so I could see into her window.

"Ten bucks is good," Shelby replied.

I nodded and grabbed the pump handle. Flipping open her gas tank and unscrewing the gas cap, I pushed the pump in and turned back around to watch the numbers climb up. My back was still to Shelby when she spoke again.

"You know, I feel like I've barely seen you since the summer started. Where are you hiding yourself?"

I sighed, keeping my eyes on the numbers so I wouldn't have to turn and look at her. "I've been working."

"Yeah, but you sleep somewhere, don't you? Pretty sure you don't live in the garage," she said.

I stopped the pump just as it hit ten bucks. I was getting pretty good at that. "I'm staying at Ike's apartment, okay?"

"Am I ever gonna see you again?" she replied, fiddling with her purse and digging out the money. I could tell she was trying to delay handing it to me, counting it all out in ones and taking time to smooth the wrinkles out of each bill. 

"I don't know, Shelby. I kind of need some time to myself," I replied, stuffing my hands in pockets and waiting for her to finish delaying. There was another car sitting at the next pump and I knew they were getting impatient waiting for one of the other guys to stop standing around and attend to them.

"Just let me come by and see you, okay? Just tonight. And if it's that horrible, I won't come by again," she said, her sunglasses sliding down as she finally handed me the bills. I could see her eyes, big and pleading, from under the purple lenses and I hated myself for how weak I was.

"Okay, fine. But just tonight."

****

It was late that night when I got back to Isaac's apartment, and I was too tired to do any more cooking than just microwaving a plate of leftover pizza. While it was heating up, I slipped out of the dirty overalls right in the kitchen-–I knew there was a big spot of grease on them and Isaac wouldn't like that on his carpet-–and changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that I had left hanging over the couch. They weren't exactly clean, but they didn't smell like sweat and gasoline, and that was more than I could say about myself.

I had just flopped down onto the couch with a can of soda and that plate of pizza when a knock came at the door. I didn't need the peephole to tell me who it was; something about the cadence of her knock always told me when it was Shelby. Setting the pizza and soda down on the coffee table, I walked over to the door and answered it. Sure enough, it was Shelby. She was, as usual, holding a cigarette between her fingers and she looked almost a little nervous.

I couldn't help but give her a little smile as I stood back and let her into the apartment. As she walked by me, I caught a whiff of her perfume, something that smelled cheap and sticky sweet like bubblegum. It was a scent that used to surround me, permeating my clothes and lingering on the passenger seat, and occasionally the backseat, of my van. Smelling it again made me realize how long it had been since I had been so close to her.

The time I spent standing there thinking all this, Shelby spent making herself at home. She walked right into the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the fridge door. I hadn't touched those in the months I'd been halfway living in the apartment. 

"Well, are you gonna say anything?" Shelby said, fumbling through the drawers for a bottle opener, not even looking up at me as she spoke.

Realizing the door was still open, I pushed it shut. Then I looked back at Shelby, finally managing to get her beer open and taking a swig of it. I shrugged and said, "I don't know. What am I supposed to say?"

"Anything. Anything at all to tell me why you've been ignoring me for months," she replied, walking back into the living room and taking a seat on the couch in front of my pizza, which was probably working its way back to room temperature.

I sat down next to her, but not too close. "I haven't been ignoring--"

"Zac! You've barely said more than five words at time to me since Taylor died. And we never hang out anymore. No one sees you anymore, except old ladies who don't like to pump their own gas," Shelby said, then picked up a slice of pizza and took a big bite of it before I could protest.

Her voice was high and a little pleading, but her face was all hard lines and angles. That look told me she wouldn't put up with any bullshit answers. But I didn't have any answers, bullshit or not, to offer her. 

"I don't know, alright?" I said softly, my voice picking up in volume a little as I continued. "Nothing makes sense now. Nothing. Tay is dead and Ike, he thinks it's his fault or something. And I just don't know what to think, I don't know why any of this is happening."

"And what does that have to do with me?" she replied, looking incredulous. I could see that half her beer was gone already, thanks to the large gulps she was taking.

I shook my head and stood up. I really didn't know how to reply. What did it have to do with her? Was I being just as irrational as Isaac? I didn't know. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed two beers from the fridge-–another one for her, and one for me too. 

Sitting back down on the couch and focusing on opening my beer, I finally spoke again. "It's just weird. I don't know. Like, you were here and we were together, then. You were part of it, even if you didn't have anything to do with it."

"You're not supposed to drink with the pills you're on, are you?"

"Not really. But I stopped taking them today."

Shelby stared at me in what I guess was disbelief. Her mouth wavered a little like she wanted to say something but didn't have the words. Then she clinked her beer bottle against the side of mine and smiled at me.

"Maybe that's good. They always made me nervous," she said.

"I dunno if it's good. I don't know who I'll be without them. Let's hope he's a good guy," I replied, tipping the bottle back and taking a long, hard drink. On second thought, I added, "Hell, let's just hope he's sane."

"I'm sure he will be," Shelby replied, putting her empty bottle on the table and scooting closer to me.

I hoped like hell she was right.


	8. Past: Happy Pills

"Where's Taylor?" Isaac asked, walking into the living room. "Why are you here?"

I was so focused on the stupid Spongebob cartoon I was watching with Zoe that I didn't even hear or see Isaac come in. I had a doctor's appointment that afternoon, and Mom had made plans for Taylor to take me, since my van wasn't starting that week, and Isaac to come watch the little ones while we were gone. She was busy, of course, doing some shopping or something. To me, it just seemed like she was brushing off the appointment, like that way she could pretend it wasn't happening. Pretend I wasn't her crazy son.

But Taylor didn't show. That in and of itself wasn't surprising. Taylor? Not doing what you told him to? Nothing new at all.

I shrugged. "Dunno. I think his cell phone is turned off."

Isaac nodded knowingly and walked into the kitchen. I could hear the loud tones of the phone's keypad as he dialed-–no doubt-–Taylor's number. Like he didn't believe me and had to check it himself just to make sure I wasn't lying. After the dialing, I heard only silence. Then, several seconds later, the loud click of the phone being slammed back into the receiver. 

"What time is your appointment?" Isaac yelled the question from the kitchen.

"Twenty minutes ago."

I heard the sound of dialing again, and a few seconds later, Isaac began to speak. I had to guess at what was being said on the other end of the line.

"Mom? Yes, I'm at the house. And so is Zac."

I imagined mom was silent for a second, then gave some sort of terse reply in the vein of a knowing, "Oh, is he?"

"Yeah. We can't get a hold of him... No, he wasn't at the apartment... Not since this morning."

Now the endless questions and accusations, like Isaac was somehow responsible for Taylor. And I guess he was supposed to be, at least in Mom's eyes, since Taylor moved into the apartment she had been so proud of Ike for renting.

"I don't know, Mom! He's probably with Alex... Yeah, I'll try the record store next... And Alex's... Yes, I know... Yes, mother. I know what I told you about him and Alex... I know..."

I wasn't sure where the conversation was going at that point, but I was sure that I was lucky not to be in Isaac's place. I knew it wouldn't be long until blame shifted to me, though. Maybe it was my fault the van didn't start. Or I should have called Isaac and tried to wrangle Zoe, Mackie and Avery into his car and keep them entertained in the waiting room of my psychiatrist. Yeah, that would have worked well.

"Okay... Okay. Okay, Mom... I'll call you back... Yes, I'll call back as soon as I can... I'll let you know... Bye, Mom."

He slammed down the phone with even more force than the first time. Whatever Mom said to him must have been pretty bad, because I heard his loud groan and what sounded like a forehead hitting the kitchen counter. 

Several phone calls later, Ike's frustration was only growing. No one who might have seen Taylor had, and Alex wasn't answering his phone either. Portia hadn't seen Alex at all that day, but Isaac still lingered on his phone call with her. I imagined he was delaying calling our mom back, and for that I couldn't blame him at all.

It was five thirty when Mom arrived home, and Dad followed about ten minutes later. By that time it was two hours and thirty minutes since the time my appointment had been scheduled for. Dad was pacing the living room while I tried to sink further and further into the couch, hoping I might eventually just disappear beneath the cushions. Mom had followed Isaac back into the kitchen, where she stood over his shoulder as he called and re-called everyone he had already talked to. I wasn't sure what any of them were hoping to accomplish.

A couple minutes after 6 o'clock, the telltale sound of gravel flying and tires spinning told us that Taylor had finally arrived. Ever since buying that Camaro, he made his presence known quite loudly. I could feel everything in the house come to a stop at that sound, even little Zoe and Mackie who I'm sure had no idea why everyone was so tense.

We all stood, or in my case sat, rigid, waiting for Taylor to open the door. It was so quiet that I could hear his footsteps coming up the driveway, then onto the porch. Even the almost imperceptible sound of the doorknob turning seemed as loud as a gunshot, and Mom was in the room before the door had even opened.

"Where the hell have you been?" Mom had her hands on her hips and her eyes could have shot lasers through Taylor. I was pretty sure it was the first time I had ever heard any words like that come out of my mother's mouth.

"I was with-–" Taylor began, then stopped in his tracks. I could see his whole body going stiff and his face going pale. "I just forgot, okay?"

"You were with?" Mom repeated, turning it into both a question and an accusation.

Taylor ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He looked down at the floor when he replied, "I was with Alex. We just lost track of time."

Mom and Dad shared a strange look. Isaac offered Taylor what looked kind of like an apologetic face, but I didn't know what he was apologizing for. I figured it probably wasn't any of my business anyway, even if it did maybe have something to do with the reason I had spent the afternoon planted on our couch when I was supposed to be sitting on someone else's, sharing my feelings. Not that I ever did much talking at those appointments, anyway. I had never done much talking to any of the doctors they had sent me to over the years. I wondered if maybe that was a mistake, but I still didn't like to talk. Not to anyone, and especially not to anyone who could tell my parents I was crazy.

"You know you were supposed to be here hours ago to take your brother to that appointment," Mom said.

Tay nodded. "I know, I know. It's just this one time, okay? The world won't end if he doesn't get his happy pills for one day."

It was at that point I decided that I really, really wanted to disappear. I knew Taylor didn't mean it that way, but he knew as well as anyone that the pills didn't make me happy. They didn't make me anything. In fact, they made me more akin to _nothing_. I couldn't explain that to anyone else, though. Not to Mom, definitely not to Dad, and not to the doctors, either. 

I closed my eyes and prayed to sink beneath the couch cushions and disappear.

When I opened my eyes again, I was still there. Dad was picking Zoe up and ushering her out of the room, which I suspected was just as much to get her away from the conversation as it was to get himself away from it.

"When I tell you to pick your brother up and take him somewhere, you will do it, understand?" 

Taylor nodded softly, looking down at his feet. He still hadn't moved from the welcome mat.

"And I don't care if you think spending time with your _friend_ is more fun."

I could see Taylor wince a little at that, even though his bangs had mostly covered his face. I tried to look at it anyway, to see if his expression would give away the reason those words bothered him so much. But I just didn't know.

"Mom, will you let it go?" This time Ike was the one to speak.

Taylor looked up at Isaac, and his eyes flashed with anger for just a second. Isaac looked away quickly, almost looking ashamed. I didn't know what was happening at all, but it was making me more and more uncomfortable just being in the same room. As quietly as I possibly could, I stood up and walked out of the room. 

The other three were so engulfed in their staring contest that they didn't notice at all, and I made it to the basement without anyone following me. Once I was down there, I could forget about everything happening upstairs. I sat down at my drums and started pounding away, not even caring if the noise carried upstairs-–I knew it barely did-–and bothered anyone. 

I don't know how long I played. It felt like forever. My arms were aching and I was just about ready to quit and venture back upstairs when, over the sound of my last cymbal crash, I heard the basement door creak open. I couldn't tell just by the footsteps who it was, but soon Taylor came into view, looking very, very embarrassed and almost like he had been crying.

I set down my drumsticks and let my shoulders drop, feeling the tension growing in my shoulders from playing so long. Taylor stood awkwardly on the other side of the room for a minute, then finally relaxed enough to lean up against the wall.

"Sorry I didn't make it here earlier," he said, his voice soft and kind of low. I could tell that was the apology Mom had told him to make.

I shrugged. "It's alright. Not like I was really itching to go."

Taylor nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Well. I'm sorry about the whole 'happy pills' thing, too."

I nodded, too. "No big deal. I've called 'em that, too, even if they aren't really..."

"Look, I really feel bad. You know I didn't forget because of anything to do with you or anything, right? I mean, it's not like I didn't want to see you," Taylor said. When he raised his head, I could see the tears in the corners of his eyes. He had definitely been crying.

"I know. I didn't even think that at all," I replied. I wondered if he felt like he had to walk on eggshells around me, too, like everyone else seemed to feel. I was getting really sick of that.

"I promise I'll be here next time, okay?"

Scrunching up my nose, I asked, "Do you have to?"

Taylor laughed. "No, I guess I don't. But next time let's at least pretend I took you to the crazy doctors, okay?"


	9. Present: Pictures

I kept telling myself I would go back and visit Isaac again, but I just couldn't seem to get the time off work on any of the days that his doctors said I could come. I guess they liked to keep him on a pretty strict schedule, and my boss was a bit of a jerk who I didn't think liked me very much. I did all the work the best I could, though, and the pay was good, so I wasn't going to complain about not getting time off when I wanted it.

Even if I couldn't go visit him, Ike and I had been talking on the phone pretty regularly over the last part of the summer. He knew I would always be at his apartment and it was getting so it didn't even surprise me when the phone rang. It was always him, anyway.

I got home-–I was starting to think of the apartment that way, even though it wasn't really-–earlier than usual one day, and started to shed my overalls as soon as I closed the door. Just as I had loosened the buttons and pulled them down off my shoulders, the phone rang. I picked it up without any hesitation.

"Hey, Ike," I said, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.

"Still keeping my apartment clean for me? And in one piece?"

I looked around. Except for a couple soda cans on the coffee table and some dishes in the sink, it didn't look too bad. "Doing my best. I only caught the kitchen on fire, the rest of it is fine."

Isaac laughed long and hard, and the sound was a relief to hear. With each of our conversations, he seemed a little more relaxed, and his laughter came easier and lasted longer each time. I was starting to feel the same way about myself, too. There were times when I felt positively relaxed-–a feeling I couldn't even really describe, except to think back on the time I had smoked that joint with Taylor. 

"Mom and Dad came to visit me," Isaac said, his voice pulling me back from my thoughts.

"What? No shit?"

"Yeah, really," Isaac replied, with another small laugh. "I think Mom even kind of admitted that they hadn't been the best parents ever."

"Kind an understatement, don't you think?" I asked, grabbing a soda from the fridge. On second thought, I put it back and picked up the last beer. The night with Shelby hadn't been so bad, so I figured drinking another one would be okay.

"Well, I'll take what I can get. Dad didn't really say much, but that isn't anything new."

I cradled the phone against my shoulder while I struggled to open the beer. "I guess the silent treatment is better than some things he could say, though."

"Definitely," Isaac replied, chuckling. "What's that sound?"

"Umm... drinking one of your beers?" I replied, before I realized how stupid it was to admit to it.

"Zac! You really think that's a good idea?" Isaac screeched.

I took a big swig of it before saying, "Why not? I'm not taking any of those pills anymore, anyway. Can't hurt me too much now, can it?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am. I've had enough of it, Ike. I just want to _be_. It isn't so bad," I replied.

There was a pause, as I guess Isaac considered what I had said. Then he replied, "Well, I guess that's good. I'm starting to feel better about it, too. About being."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yup, and I think they will let me come home soon," he said and I could almost hear his smile at the idea of leaving that place. "I mean, I can check myself out almost any time. But I wanted to wait until the doctors agreed that I was good to go."

"Really? How soon? I guess I should..." I didn't want to finish the sentence. He knew I had been living there almost full time, but I was still just sleeping on the couch and trying my best not to leave a trace.

"No, you shouldn't. You're staying there, if you want," he said.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't even manage to do more than stutter a little and hope that he could tell I was happy.

"Do you think," Isaac began, drawing the words out a little like he didn't want to say it. "Do you think you can handle cleaning out Taylor's room? We can put his stuff in storage so there's room for you."

"You know I've been sleeping on the couch?" I asked.

Ike laughed. "I had a feeling. You're too predictable sometimes, Zac."

He had a point, and I smiled into the phone. "Well, anyway, how long do I have to clean out his room?"

"About two weeks?"

****

I kept putting it off. I knew it was going to happen someday, but I didn't think it would be so soon. Still, I could tell with every phone call that Isaac seemed more like himself. So I shouldn't have been surprised at all.

Knowing that didn't make it any easier. I hadn't touched anything in Tay's room except for his guitar. It was easier, somehow, for me to treat the room so delicately, almost pretending like it wasn't there or like Taylor might be coming back to use it soon. But I knew that wasn't healthy. As much as everything in my life reminded me of him, and the horrible absence of him, I couldn't keep ignoring his empty room.

Finally, after putting it off for a week and a half, I steeled myself to open the door. I pushed it open and stood in the doorway a while, still not quite ready to step in. There was a pretty thick coating of dust on everything; I hadn't cleaned his room when I cleaned the rest of the apartment. Seeing that, I turned back around and got a towel and some clean supplies from the kitchen. With those in hand, I could set to work. Getting the cleaning done first would delay the inevitable–-packing up the bits and pieces of Taylor's life.

After about an hour, when every surface in the room was scrubbed and polished until it shined, I had to stop avoiding the packing. I decided to start with all his clothes, first. That would be the easiest. I had used part of my last paycheck on a bunch of those big plastic storage boxes. I pulled all the drawers out of Taylor's chest and started folding their contents. Taylor had just shoved everything in there, but it had to be folded to fit in the boxes.

After all the drawers had been emptied and two boxes filled, I moved on to the closet. First came the clothes, which were taken off their hangers and folded. That filled another entire box. I thought there were a few things in there that I would have liked to have, but probably wouldn't have fit me. So I packed them up anyway. As long as they were in the storage building, I could go back and get them later if I still wanted them.

Next came all the shoes, belts and scarves littering the bottom of his closet. I threw the shoes into the box first, then the rest of the stuff in on top of it. I found one hat that I was pretty sure Taylor had borrowed from me, and set that aside. After the closet floor was emptied, I could pull up his desk chair and dig through the shelf at the top.

It was piled full of all sorts of things I couldn't quite identify. Standing on the chair and trying to keep myself steady, I started pulling the contents out and tossing them onto his bed. There were several paperback books, some sheet music and a couple shoe boxes. All of these landed with soft thuds on his quilt and soon the shelf was empty. I knew I shouldn't do it, but I really wanted to look in those shoe boxes. Something was just pulling me to them, even while my conscience yelled at me to leave them closed and pack them away. 

The curiosity won out.

I sat down cross-legged in the floor and pulled one of the boxes down into the floor in front of me. With apprehension, I lifted the top off of it. The box was full of pictures, movie tickets and other bits of paper. The movie tickets dated back several years, all the way back to when Taylor had first gotten his driver's license and started going to the movies all the time. I could remember several that he had taken me to watch with him, even though he usually didn't like for me to sit with him and his other friends.

I thought unfolding the bits of paper and reading them was invading his privacy a bit too much, so I drew the line there. But I couldn't help looking through all the pictures. Some of them were of us at home when we were little. He must have stolen some of them from mom's photo albums–-pictures of him blowing out the candles on birthday cakes or riding the new bicycle he got for Christmas. 

By the time I reached the picture of Taylor laughing over my broken nose (his fault), I realized I was crying. And I didn't think it was just the memory of how much that had hurt. I didn't even remember the last time I had cried. The last time I had really, really cried. Banging my shin on the coffee table or opening a door into my face might raise a few tears, but I couldn't remember ever sobbing like I did then. Big, fat teardrops fell onto the pictures and I tried my best to wipe them all up as I kept looking through the shoe box. 

Every few pictures, I had to stop completely when one big sob would run through my body, making me shake all over. It was like now, almost a year later, the reality of everything was hitting me for the first time. And strangely, I didn't mind at all. I wasn't really sad. Not the way I used to be. I was just suddenly feeling-–feeling everything I hadn't been able to feel before that.

The pictures were getting more and more recent. There were photos from Taylor's senior prom, with the blonde girl he had sworn wasn't his girlfriend, even though we could all tell Mom was hoping she was. Several pictures of that damned Camaro, from every possible angle. And then, photos of Portia, Alex and Tay goofing off in the record store. In one of them, Tay and Alex were sharing a look that made me a little uncomfortable, like I was watching a moment that wasn't meant to be caught on camera or seen by anyone else at all. In the next picture, I could see Tay and Alex's arms around each other, holding each other closer than friends, and then I knew. I had answers to all the questions I hadn't figured out how to ask.

A knock at the door made me jump and I hurried to wipe away all my tears before answering it. I was glad my shirt was black so that the tears wouldn't show on it, but I knew my face probably still looked really red and would give everything away. I ran to the door, grabbing my forgotten beer along the way and tossing it in a trash can. 

When I flung open the door, I saw Isaac standing there, a big suitcase on the ground beside him and another bag flung over his shoulder. Without thinking, I grabbed him and held him tight to my chest.

"It's good to see you too," he said, trying to laugh, but it mostly came out as wheezing.

I pulled back and looked my brother in the face. He didn't look as tense or sad as I remembered. He looked like the Isaac I knew and I was amazed that six months could make such a difference. I wondered if I looked any different.

As though he could read my mind, Ike looked me over and said, "You look good, Zac. You look... sane."

"I feel sane, too," I replied, smiling. 

I couldn't help it. I pulled Isaac in for another hug, and he hugged me back. Still clutching him close to me, I whispered in his ear, "It wasn't your fault."

"I think maybe you're right," Ike whispered back.


	10. Past: Empty

School always started back too early in Oklahoma, if you asked me. We started back the third week of August and our first football game was that weekend. The freshmen had barely had time to learn the school song, and we were nowhere near ready to start marching. 

It didn't matter much that night, though. It had started raining early in the afternoon and hadn't quit for even a minute. The field was soaked and all our football players seemed to be wearing uniforms made entirely of mud. Everyone in the band had to huddle under umbrellas to keep their instruments dry-–especially the drummers. I was one of them, and it was really hard to keep the big bass drum I played under the tiny umbrella the band director had given me. By halftime, after we had finished playing a very stationary version of what would be our halftime show for that year, Mr. Dixon was ready to call it quits and told us just to pack up our instruments.

I knew that meant I could leave early if I wanted to, but my van was still on the fritz and I was supposed to be getting a ride home from Taylor, who had promised to be more reliable than last time. Also, it meant that I could spend the rest of the game seeking dry ground under the bleachers with Shelby, who had been sitting by herself a few rows away from the band. 

Since I couldn't exactly walk home, at least not in a rain as hard as that one was, I decided to spend the rest of the game with Shelby. After I came back from putting the bass drum and my music in our band room, which was in a separate building not too far from the field, I saw that she was still sitting in the same place. I motioned for her to follow me, and made my way up under the bleachers. I chose the far end of the field, where there wasn't as much lighting and not as many people sitting above. Not that I was planning anything that needed much secrecy, but I just liked having some space between us and the rest of the crowd.

Mostly we just cuddled there, not even really saying much to each other. We kind of worked better that way, I thought. And I didn't like to talk much, anyway. Shelby tried to smoke a cigarette, but the whole pack had gotten doused in the rain earlier and didn't want to stay lit. I laughed at her persistence, and she didn't really appreciate it.

When the game was over, we pulled our jackets up over our heads and began the walk over to her car. She couldn't quite remember where she had parked it, and the thing was small enough to hide behind most of the larger ones in the parking lot. Before we spotted hers, I saw Isaac's car and him standing beside it.

"Looks like Taylor didn't show up again," Shelby pointed out, noticing Isaac at the same time I did.

"Guess not," I said, then placed a small kiss on the side of her face. "I'll see you at school tomorrow, alright?"

"Yup. And I can come over to your brothers' this weekend, right?"

I nodded and smiled. "Yeah, definitely."

Shelby blew another kiss to me as she walked away to continue the search for her car. I walked over to Isaac, who I realized when I got closer to him, had a really strange look on his face. I couldn't figure out what it meant at all. Probably he was just upset that he had to take over Taylor's responsibilities again. I would never know why they kept assigning Taylor to look after me, when he could barely look after himself.

"Get in," Isaac said, not even offering me a chance to reply before he turned around and climbed back into the driver's seat.

I walked around to the other side and sat down in the car. With his jaw set tightly, Isaac started up the car and steered us out of the parking lot. I realized immediately that he was headed back to the house and not to his apartment, like Taylor and I had planned the night before.

"We're not going back to your place?" I asked, reaching my hand out to turn the radio on.

"No, we need to get you home," Ike replied, turning the radio off just as soon as I had adjusted it to my favorite classic rock station.

"Where's Taylor?" I asked, looking straight ahead at the road. The rain was making everything glittery and bright, even in the growing darkness.

"He went over to the house this afternoon after work... I think Mom was still mad at him," Ike replied. It didn't really answer my question, and it felt like there was a lot more to the story that he wasn't saying.

"Oh... okay," I said, not knowing what else I could say. His answer hadn't answered anything at all, but I wanted to at least acknowledge it.

Isaac didn't say anything else, so I just focused on watching all the cars pass us by. Their headlights bounced around in the rain and reflecting off the wet road hurt my eyes, but I didn't have anything better to watch, and evidently I wasn't allowed to turn the radio on. So I just steeled myself to squint at the bright lights and keep watching the traffic.

It really wasn't very interesting to watch. We were on kind of a back road heading toward our house on the outskirts of town, so even on the night of a football game there wasn't much traffic. Just a few cars here and there. Then a big wrecker came rolling by, its rumbling sound enough to attract my attention. The bright flash of red in an otherwise dull colored night also caught my eyes. 

It wasn't the wrecker, though. It was the bright, shiny red Camaro on the back of it.

I knew there had to be tons of Camaros in Tulsa, and maybe even one or two more in Jenks. But my stomach still did a giant flipflop at the sight of it. The whole front end of the thing was crunched and folded up, making it look more like an accordion than a car. The windshield, or what I could see of it, was all smashed and broken into jagged pieces. It looked like the teeth of a monster jutting out, with speckles of-–I didn't even want to think the word.

Blood. 

Blood all over it. When our headlights passed over it, I could even see the stuff covering the driver's seat. Then it felt like that was all I could see. Red. The bright red of the car and the dark, thick red of blood. I had to close my eyes and I still couldn't get away from that color.

"Fuck," Isaac said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm so sorry, Zac."

Then I knew. I could have convinced myself otherwise, but then I knew. And he had already known and didn't tell me. I couldn't look at Isaac for the rest of the drive home. I just sat with my eyes closed and my hands clutching at the dashboard, trying to keep myself from throwing up.

When we got home, I didn't even wait until the car was in park. It was still rolling when I threw the door open. I ran straight into the house and down the hall to the bathroom. I was in there for a long time, even long after the contents of my stomach were gone. It still kept turning and forcing me back onto my knees in front of the toilet, even though I could feel the emptiness of it.

Once I could finally stand up and felt like my stomach was going to stay put, I walked back into the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the table, her head pressed against it, sobbing. Dad was in a chair next to her, and a cop sat across from them. Isaac stood against the counter, clutching Jessie and Avery to his side. 

This time, it wasn't my stomach that gave way. It was my legs. I fell to the floor, and sat there, feeling like all of my bones had taken leave of my body. Everything was numb and tingly. I could barely even hear the cop talking through the buzzing in my ears. Something about how fast Taylor was going, that they didn't think he had even used his headlights, that he probably died on impact with the tree and didn't feel much of anything.

I thought about what Isaac had said. He had a fight with Mom. He was driving too fast, but he always did that. His windshield wipers were shitty, anyway. Of course he hadn't gotten around to buying new ones. 

And he was gone.

He wasn't going to walk in the door and apologize for being late. He wasn't going to take me behind that dumpster again. He wasn't going to smile again and light up any more rooms. He wasn't going to play the guitar, or the piano, or try to play my drums anymore. He was gone. 

The world felt empty. My body felt empty. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw things. I wanted to cry. I wanted to do something. To feel something.

But everything was just too empty.


	11. Epilogue

There are still days when I look up at the door hoping and expecting to see Taylor walk in. I know it won't happen. It's not like I'm delusional and I don't know he's dead. I can finally say the word dead now, when I talk about him. That took me a while. I always knew it but the letters seemed to get stuck in my mouth and I just couldn't force them out. Anyway, it's not like I don't know he's dead. I know he isn't walking through that door any time soon. That doesn't mean I have to stop wishing he would.

I still miss him, that's for sure. It's not just that I miss him being here, though. These days it's more like I want him to be here so he can see me. He was the one who always believed I was alright and now he isn't even here to see it. That's the part that hurts even though I know it's a little selfish. 

I guess I ought to believe that he's up in heaven looking down on us, but I just don't know about that. All this religion stuff never made much sense to me anyway, and especially not now. I can't watch all this stuff go wrong and believe that there's someone up there who is supposed to be taking care of us. I'd rather not believe in God at all than believe that he's turning a blind eye to everything bad in the world.

So maybe Taylor is watching us and maybe he isn't. And I'm kind of okay with not knowing. I don't think knowing that he is would be any more comforting. 

I don't think he would even recognize his bedroom now. I moved in for good, officially and everything, the day I turned eighteen. I had been gradually bringing all my stuff over for about a week, and I finally made it real by setting my drum set up in the living room after school on my birthday. 

When Ike came home from work that day, he had a chocolate cake and a gallon of blue paint to cover that stupid yellow Taylor had insisted on. Isaac and I were never that close, not the way that me and Taylor were. I still hate that this is what it took to bring us together. A lot of good has come out of the past year, somehow, and it's bittersweet because I don't want to be so glad that Taylor's death has been the catalyst for it all.

At first I didn't even want to paint the room. I just sat in the floor eating the cake and staring at the walls. Finally Ike came in armed with paintbrushes and started for me, with a big sloppy blue smiley face in the middle of one wall. Before I knew it, we were both covered in blue paint and all the cake was gone. And the room was mine. 

This new life was mine, really mine. 

I'm still trying to figure out where everything is going and where it's been. I guess Isaac is too, and I'm glad we can be together for it. Mom and dad have mostly left us alone. By the time I moved out, they weren't really even speaking to me anymore. Even worse than before. I walked out the house that last day, on the way to my van, and I heard the door open behind me. Mom came out, looking like someone had had to push her through the doorway and down the steps, and gave me a short, cold hug. She didn't say anything.

I guess that was better than I expected. Maybe in the future they'll see that things are okay. That I'm okay. That Isaac is okay. That maybe our family is going to be okay. But I'm not going to push things. If it happens, it will happen. Until then, I won't sit by waiting for an apology, or even a normal parental conversation.

I'm not saying things are perfect now. That just isn't possible. Ike is a lot quieter than he used to be. I can't really blame him for that. Sometimes I'm not sure if he's really lost in thought or if he's just trying to keep himself from talking. I know why he thinks he shouldn't talk. It's like he has to stop and reconsider every word before it leaves his mouth, as though it might somehow destroy the whole world. But there aren't any more secrets he could tell and he shouldn't blame himself anyway. 

Then again, what do I know? I was dumb enough to not even really see the truth about Taylor and Alex until it didn't matter anymore. I don't know how I missed it now, how I could have missed all the little clues and hints. Even if I had known, I wouldn't have cared. Maybe that's why I didn't see it. Because he was my brother and I loved him regardless of who he loved. But I guess our parents didn't feel the same way. 

As for Alex, he comes over with Portia sometimes. I think she's forgiven Ike for leaving her. It wasn't really like he left her, anyway. He left all of us so he could get himself back. So she forgave him and they are okay now. Alex comes over because I guess he's still lonely, and our company is the closest he can come to having Taylor back. I always did like hanging out with him, though, so it's okay. 

I don't know if he really loved Taylor. Sometimes I want to ask. I never saw him cry or anything. But it wouldn't really be right to ask him and it's none of my business anyway. So I don't ask. I think it would just open up the wounds again if I did ask him and if his answer was yes. I like to assume it is, even though I know that means this probably hurt him as much, if not the same way, that it did me and Ike. 

I like to imagine Taylor loved Alex too, and that Taylor stood up for himself to our mom on that last night. In my mind, Taylor was his usual defiant self and told our mom that her disapproval didn't matter because he knew who he was and how he felt. I'd never have the guts to ask her what he said, and I doubt she would tell me anyway. I know now that when he left, he went to Alex. Alex hasn't told any of us what they talked about then. I don't think it was good. Maybe they argued. I don't know. That's another thing I won't ask him, even though I think I'd like to know the last words Tay said to anyone. But that's between him and Alex and maybe it's more personal than I want to know.

And what do I really know about love, anyway? I guess I'm an adult now but sometimes I don't feel like it. Then again, sometimes I feel like everyone made me grow up too fast. It's like I'm stuck, suspended in this weird place where I'm not really an adult or a kid. Whatever I am, all I know about love is what I've seen of it, which hasn't been all that much. It's nothing I've really experienced for myself. Shelby wasn't love. It's hard to say what she really was. She was just there, and I couldn't think of any good reasons not be with her. Now I can think of several, but they didn't stop me then.

She started coming to the gas station almost every day. Sometimes she would get gas and sometimes she would just hang out, taking way too long to get a soda from the machine out in front of the garage. It was always obvious why she was there. At first I tried to ignore her and hope one of the other guys would wait on her. But they figured out soon enough that she was there for me and wouldn't stop with their sneers and little comments until I walked over to her car.

I let her come over to the apartment a few more times, but it was always awkward. I didn't really see what I had ever seen in her, other than the danger of it all. I didn't want danger anymore. I didn't want her drinking my beer and crawling into my lap. Which she did, the last time she came over. That was when I knew for sure it was the end for me and her. There might have been a time that I wouldn't have turned her away. I don't know.

For a while, I ignored her in the hallway at school and didn't answer her phone calls. I had to stop doing that, though, because I didn't like being that much of a coward. One day, right when I walked into the apartment after work, the phone rang. I knew before I even saw the caller id that it was her. I think it surprised her that I picked up. Before she had time to say anything, I told her it all had to stop. If I had given her even the tiniest chance, I'm afraid she might have won me over again. So I didn't give her that chance. I told her we were a phase. A phase that had passed. That she wasn't what I needed in my life anymore.

I don't think she wanted to, but she accepted it. She could see well enough that I'm not the same anymore. We might have worked at one point, but now that I'm finally feeling like... well, like a person, our relationship just doesn't work. She hasn't called since then, and her visits to the gas station are usually just for gas these days.

I'm quitting that job soon anyway, and I won't miss it one bit. Alex promised he could get me a job at the record store, working with him. He offered me the job for weeks before I accepted it. It felt too much like trying to replace Taylor. First I took his bedroom. Then his job? It didn't feel right. But Alex wouldn't leave me alone about it. He promised me it wasn't as weird as I thought it was, and finally he won me over. I always did like to hang out there after school, when Taylor was still alive. I know that record store inside and out, just about as well as any of the guys who work there. So I guess it just makes sense.

I don't know what I'm going to do once I graduate. Isaac says he is going to start taking classes again next fall. He just has to save up some money for it this spring and then he's going to take the last few classes he needs to get his degree. He wants to teach music to little kids. He keeps telling me I need to apply to college, but I don't know. Maybe I won't get in anyway. But he says I will, and I could do really well in the music program he's in. Maybe I'll be like Taylor, though, and just work at the record store. 

Either way, it feels like I'll just be following in one of their footsteps. I don't want to do that. I want to be me, and I'm finally starting to figure out who that is. I'm finally starting to _like_ who that is. I don't remember the last time I could say that. I guess the last time I really felt okay with me, I was too young to really be thinking about that kind of stuff anyway. 

Maybe I will go to college. The school guidance counselor came into one of my classes last week and talked for a long time about our choices for after graduation. At the end, she handed out applications for some colleges around Oklahoma. They've been sitting on the coffee table ever since then, taunting me-–University of Oklahoma, Oral Roberts, Oklahoma State.

But as much as I do want to be my own person and have my own life, a bigger part of me wants to stay here in Tulsa with Isaac. I'd never say it to him, but I feel like he kind of needs me now. If he stayed by himself, I think he would go crazy again. Just because he'd never talk, unless he had to. It's not that I think he's really crazy. He just needs a little more support until he's totally back on his feet. That's what his doctors said too, so it's not just me being overprotective. Going back to college will really help him, I think.

I never thought it would end up with me being overprotective of Ike. Somehow it should be the other way around, but that's okay. It's nothing we could change now if we wanted to. And it's not like I don't need him sometimes, too. Everything wasn't magically okay after the first time I cried. I think I cried at least a little bit every day for a month after that. I still cry a lot, but I'm learning to be okay with that. I like feeling anything, even if it isn't a good feeling.

So I let myself cry. There were even nights that I noticed Ike was crying, too. I think he tries to hide it from me, so I don't pressure him about it. We've only talked about Taylor a few times, and we've never really talked about the accident. Ike won't admit how guilty he still feels about it, but I can tell. One day I told him it was okay, that I didn't blame him. I don't really even blame Taylor or mom or anyone. If I blame anyone, it's this whole stupid world and how it tells us it isn't okay to just be who we are.

But if I spent all my time placing blame, it would kill me. It would eat away at me until I couldn't breathe, couldn't eat, couldn't live. I don't want that life. So I choose to just not think about it as something that was anyone's fault or something that could have been prevented. 

Jessica called here a few days ago, and I talked to her for a while. I don't think our parents knew she was calling me, though, and I don't want to know what they would have had to say about it. We didn't really talk much. Not about anything that really matters. But it was good to hear her voice and know that she's okay. I think she felt the same way. Maybe someday I'll be able to go visit her, and the rest of them too. But for now I don't know.

So everything isn't okay, for as much time as I spend telling myself that it is. But it's as good as it can be, I think. Nothing can ever be perfect. It's just about doing the best I can with what I have. I always felt like I would be depending on everyone else to get me through, but I guess I'm stronger than I thought. It sounds like I think I have all the answers now, but I know I don't. I just know enough to keep the pieces from falling apart. Maybe that's all anyone ever knows.


End file.
